


A Night In With The Mariner

by ialpiriel



Series: Sole Survivor Prof [6]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Lovingly calling each other names, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7126123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ialpiriel/pseuds/ialpiriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F!sosu brings back a gift for the mariner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night In With The Mariner

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on the [ fallout kink meme ](http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/7011.html?thread=19682659#t19682659)

Prof comes back, three days later, hand clenched tight around a vial.

She stands in the Mariner’s doorway, one hand on the frame, the other holding the vial in front of her chest.

“You're back,” the Mariner says. Shebdoesnt move from her place on the couch, barely even deigns to raise an eyebtow.

Prof nods, glances down, lifts her hand from the doorframe like she's going to sign, then seems thinks better of it, replaces her hand.

Instead, she holds out the vial.

The Mariner regards it with suspicion.

“What is that,” she asks, looks to Prof’s face with narrowed eyes.

Prof breathes in through her nose, out through her nose, studies the set of the Mariner’s shoulders--down, back, like she's trying to minimize the pain--her face--muscle in her jaw twitches as they watch each other--hands--curled into the waxed fabric of her waders.

She holds out the vial with more insistence, and the Mariner takes it with a sigh, turns it over. Prof grins.

“If you won't tell me what it is, where is it from?” The Mariner reads the label, thumbtip tracing under the words. She looks up at Prof when she reaches the end.

“The Institute,” Prof signs. Grins wider.

“Why are you giving me something from the Institute?” the Mariner asks, sets the vial aside, very pointedly does not touch it, rests her hands on her knees.

Prof raises her hands to sign, hesitates, drops her hands again. Steps into the dingy room, instead, feet creaking in the floorboards instead of the dock,out of the chill of the wind and she stands in front of the Mariner. The Mariner looks up, and Prof bends at the waist, presses their lips together.

The Mariner sighs when they part, a great heavy thing from the bottom of her chest.

“You're a sentimental asswipe, you know that?”

Prof throws her head back, laughs silently, shoulders shaking.

“I know,” she signs, drops to one knee, presses her hands over the Mariner’s, leans in for another kiss. The Mariner obliges.

“I'm ready, you know?” she says when she pulls away, her voice low and rough, hands fisting into her waders again. “I've made my peace.”

Prof leans up, wraps one hand on one side of the Mariner's neck, presses her nose against the other. The Mariner lifts her hands from her thighs, drapes her arms across Prof’s shoulders.

They stay like that for a long minute, silent but for their breathing, the creaking of the Mariner’s joints, the groan of the floorboards under Prof’s knees.

“So how does it work?” the Mariner asks, voice quiet. Neither moves for a long moment, then Prof leans back, mimes a syringe with one hand, pretends to inject herself in the bend of her opposite elbow, without lifting her hand from the Mariner's neck. She shuffles through her belt pouch, then, too, pulls out a stimpak. She leans her forehead against the Mariner’s collarbone, twists until she can set the stimpak next to the vial. “Together?” the Mariner asks. Prof nods. “How long does it take?”

Prof finally sits back on her heels, hand intentionally dragging down the Mariner's chest and across one breast as she does, and taps her wrist, holds up three fingers.

“Three hours?” the Mariner asks, sits back on the couch. Done this before, town asleep, lights low, Prof on the floor, on her knees, between the Mariner’s thighs.

Prof nods, rests her fingertips against the toes of the Mariner’s boot.

“All together, or to kick in?”

Prof holds up two fingers, and the Mariner nods.

“Can I be asleep for it?”

Prof scowls, nods her head back and forth, studies the flaking plaster of the ceiling before squinching one eye shut, looking at the Mariner, and shrugging. The Mariner snorts. 

“You're no help.”

Prof shrugs again, presses a dry kiss to the join of the Mariner’s chin and throat.

“Why?” the Mariner asks. “We're--this, but you've said things before. Why me? Why am I different? Why am I the one you're trying to save from the Long Walk?”

Prof hesitates a long moment before digging out her pad of paper and pencil. She sits back on her heels again, writes. The Mariner waits patiently as she does.

**I WANT YOU TO MEET MY SON. YOU REMIND ME OF MY GIRLFRIEND IN THE BEST WAYS. YOU DIDN'T ACT WEIRD ABOUT THE NOT TALKING. YOU ACCEPTED HELP. YOU'RE A SENTIMENTAL ASSWIPE TOO AND YOU KNOW IT.**

“You went to the institute.” The Mariner tugs Prof back upright by the ears. “You mainlanders are terrified of the Institute.”

Prof shakes her head, taps under **MY SON**.

“He's there,” she signs. “He's safe, and they let me see him.”

They're both quiet another long minute.

“Should I use this tonight?” the Mariner asks, moves one hand from her thigh to the arm of the couch.

**PLEASE** Prof scribbles across her paragraph, doubles over her letters to make them dark enough.

“Are you sure it'll work?”

Prof nods.

“I think I'm gonna try to sleep,” the Mariner says, moves to stand. Prof scrambles back, then back to her feet. “Come to bed with me.” She scoops up the stimpak and the vial, retreats to her bed. Prof follows, tosses her coat and belt back over onto the sofa, curls up between the Mariner-- still sitting, supplies in her hands-- and the boarded over front window. She waits while the Mariner sets up the injection, makes a soft noise in the back of her throat when she uses it. Prof tucks her arm over the Mariner’s side, when she finally lays down, squirms back until Prof is the big spoon and the Mariner’s hands are clasped over hers.

Their breathing slows.

“If this doesn't work, I'm gonna come back to haunt you, mainlander.”

Prof snorts and presses her nose against the back of the Mariner's neck, presses a wet kiss at the join of her shoulders.


End file.
